You smiled and talked to me of nothing and I felt that for this I had been waiting long.

This little flute of a reed thou hast carried over hills and dales, and hast breathed through it melodies eternally new.

We sit inert, like dead specimens of some museum, while lessons are pelted at us from on high, like hailstones on flowers.

The world puts off its mask of vastness to its lover. It becomes small as one song, as one kiss of the eternal.

The first flower that blossomed on this earth was an invitation to an unborn song.

He only has freedom who ideally loves freedom himself and is glad to extend it to others. He who cares to have slaves must chain himself to them. He who builds walls to create exclusion for others builds walls across his own freedom. He who distrusts freedom in others loses his moral right to it.

Death is turning out the lamp because the dawn has appeared.